Mad World
by Kiden Nixon
Summary: T for attempted suicide. With a tournament looming ever near the bladebreakers are once again forced to rejoin.This time with a responsability they could live without.Can Kai avoid the dangers ahead while trying to keep the new girl from killing herself?
1. Saligare

Disclaimer: I do not own beyblade, nor do I own anything that may seem familiar used within the context of this story.

**Mad World**  
I find it kinda funny  
I find it kinda sad  
The dreams in which I'm _dying_  
Are the _best _I've ever had  
_-Gary Jules_

Saligare - Prologue

Her plans never seemed to work. Lying back down on the cold cement, her soul staring out through the eyes that should have belonged to nothing but her corpse, served as proof to the futility. This unescapable ensnarement, the result of her latest scheme, lay far from the death in which she sought. While others would be blessed with the shadowy final curtain, she could still see the sky. While others would be gifted with silence, she could hear the hollow rumbling of distant thunder over the nearer blaring of car alarms and stalled traffic.

Once again she found herself fully alive when she should have been dead.

The sky was bound and suffocated by clouds of the darkest grey, like the sallow flesh of angels she imagined in her mind so gripped with madness. Angelic skin torn by every slash of lightning, spilling blood of the purest mingled with their heavenly tears, to which human eyes failed to differentiate. Their blood and tears she watched, washed over her own crimson tide as it began to stain the dark pavement.

She knew of the puddle forming beneath her head, but could feel nothing but the cold numbing grip of her own mock death.

"Hello? I'm sorry, there has been an accident . . . " It was all she caught of the frantic conversation as another roll of thunder boomed and echoed through her head. She closed her eyes and tried to move, but still her body refused. Begrudgingly, she resigned to the stillness of the moment, and listened to the voice whispering within her head, the soft lulling growl whispering of sleep and better things, and succumbed with little resistence.

Minutes later, she was perfectly aware of the men as they lifted her onto the stretcher and carted her off to the hospital.

Hospital, a place of white walls and needles. Sedation, she could feel it slipping into her veins even before the tiny metal point touched her flesh, a slight shiver, and the slow fading of control.

Aa darkness finally began to slip over her eyes. The voice began to whisper.

'Everything will be alright.'

Her heart began to slow. Her mind began to sink.

'You are mine forever.'

The stale stench of death and decay burnt through the mask of cleansing solutions and inundated her senses even before her body reached the emergency entrance.

'I will never let you go.'

* * *

When Mr. Dickinson had chosen to walk through the small German park, he had been blissfully unaware of the events that the day would have in store for him. He had only wanted to clear his head of the upcoming tournament preparations, and of the troubling news that had brought him to the foreign country in the first place. His responsibilities were weighty, and they were slowly beginning to crush him, but he was determined to pull through. 

Two voices were raised in an argument beyond the thicket, and like any other citizen would, Mr. Dickinson tried to shy away. But no sooner had he passed the bushes that the words he had both grown to love and loathe reached his ears.

"Let's beyblade!" Curiosity began to stir as he felt his mood begin to lift. Never did he shy away from the chance to discover new talent, in any country. Stumbling through the trees, he came across the scene almost instantly.

Two teens stood on opposite sides of a massive cement bowl, completely unaware of Mr. Dickinson's presence, as they held their blades locked and ready to go within their launchers. Anxiously the man watched from the safety of the foliage as they began the routine countdown. "Three . . . two . . . one . . . Let It Rip!"

Both blades tore through the air and crashed against the opposing cement sides. Sparks flashed, sparked, and began to fly out from beneath them as they raced across the slopes, closing in on the center, closing in on each other.

The boy was the first to call an attack. "Lupine! Wolf claw!" And in response a light of blue, shot up from the bit-chip as the blade came rushing in. A massive silver wolf sprung out into the open, stretching its clawed paw to the sky, and bringing it down just as the blade collided with that of its opponent's. The blade skittered back, as Lupine spun in circles in the center.

The girl winced, but recovered instantly. Her blade swinging in toward the other, accelerating as it raced down from the edges, suddenly engulfed in flames.

The boy smirked: "Lupine dodge!"

"Celaeno!" The girl's blade thrust itself into the air as if on strings just as Lupine dodged to the side. "Divine punishment!"

The fires grew black around the blade as it plunged in for the final strike, crashing down right on top of the other blade with enough force to break it; all before the boy could act.

"You might want to hurry before you lost some of the pieces." The girl muttered softly, though the mock was evident in her voice. The boy leapt down into the dish and grabbed at the ruins of his blade, gaping at the pieces as he held them within his palm. "We feel no remorse for the destruction of a weak blade, nor do we for the destruction of an undeserved ego."

Something, an alarm of sorts, went off in Mr. Dickinson's mind. A red flag whose significance lay on the tip of his tongue.

The girl continued staring down at the boy as she holstered her launcher and slipped her blade into her pocket. The boy did not move.

"Whelp." She barked. At this the boy shot her a glare, and for a moment Mr. Dickinson wished to intervene, but both figured seemed so absorbed in their hatred that even his presence would not stop them. "If you seek to avenge your blade, do so now or forever live with the anger and the loathing . . . "

Lightning flashed across the sky, and like a wolf itself the boy sprung from the bowl growling and cursing at the girl as he swung at her with all his might. Blow after blow landed upon her frame until blood poured from between his fingers where the fragments of his blade were still help. Mr. Dickinson had finally held him back, but something held him back. Something spoke within his mind, speaking in tongues he had never heard the answer to his riddle, and in horror he froze.

The boy continued his attacks, but the girl never fought back. As the rain began splashing down from the sky in angry bursts, the boy's muttering and cursing became something primal, something feral. And with every blow he landed. The girl was forced back. Until finally, she was on the curbside.

Cars were buzzing past, trucks lumbering and crashing down the pavement at dangerous speeds. One more step and it was over.

Mr. Dickinson broke the spell and leapt from his hiding place, trying desperately to reach the boy before he did the unthinkable.

The boy, breathing heavily, glared at her from under heavy eyelids, his hair plastered to his head. The girl smiled.

"What's wrong, whelp?" She taunted, blood staining her face, her voice a pitiful, jeering wheeze as blood dribbled down her lip. A bruise was blossoming around her eye. "Can't go through with it?"

The boy grinned, a sickeningly psychotic grin as he raised his fist: "Good-Bye."

Thunder rumbled and resounded through the sky, joined with the sickening crunch of breaking bones as wheels skid across the wet pavement. Car horns blared and one solitary, bloodcurdling scream was heard above the chorus of destruction.

Mr. Dickinson finally found his voice, but every time he spoke it was the wrong language. Twisted sentences of nonsense fell from his stiffened jaw as he collapsed to his knees. He didn't know what to do. One of the men who had been driving leapt from his vehicle and whipped out a cell phone, fumbled with the number for a moment before rambling in nervous German into the receiver. All Mr. Dickinson could catch from the conversation was the Hospital's name.

The boy recovered his senses before the man, and stared down at the scene. His body suddenly seemed to shrink, his shoulders caving in as he began to shudder in attempts to fight down the bile beginning to rise and burn in his throat. Beneath Mr. Dickinson's watchful eyes, he staggered back, and the man understood his fear. Without glancing back, the boy fled, and disappeared down the stormy street.

The ambulance came and left quickly, and in that amount of time, Mr. Dickinson had managed to compose himself. Standing, he dusted off his pants and watched as the knot of traffic began to untangle, and the spectators began to leave.

His worries from earlier had vanished, eclipsed by his concern for the girl. With a body still numbed by shock, he retraced his steps hastily until he found his car. Quickly, he gave the chauffeur the name of the hospital and climbed in.

His thoughts were plagued with guilt, but he knew instantly how he could help. If she wasn't dead, he would make it up to her, let her blade as part of his team. Slightly relieved, he relaxed back into his seat.

All he needed to know now was who she was.

* * *

Authors Note: I only edited it a bit. The next chapter should be out shortly, I hope.


	2. Hypothesis

Disclaimer: I don't own beyblades, nor do I own anything that does not appear familiar to you. Further more, I do not claim to own the italicized words in quotations, Dante's Inferno If there is something here that I have forgotten to mention, feel free to remind me, but do not sue. Thank you.

**Wake Up**  
The morning will come  
In the press of every kiss

With your head upon my chest  
_Where I will annoy you_  
With every waking breathe  
_'Til you decide to wake up  
-Coheed and Cambria_

Hypothesis - Chapter One

Kenny watched through the computer screen as somewhere in the streets of Germany, another beyblade was shattered. Not only was the blade shattered, but the concrete bowl beneath it had been cracked and scorched by flames, and the metal remains of the blade to blame had embedded themselves in every nearby surface.

He acknowledge, with a wince, the attack's likeness to shrapnel.

The screen darkened and buzzed with snow-like-static momentarily before the camera was picked up again. This time the focus was on a plain looking brunette. The screen was cut and slashed by static, and the words that passed over her full blood red lips were garbled and lost in the hum, but he paused it, It being the only remaining clip of the girl in full view.

"Hey Chief!" The flick of a switch and light flooded his tiny bedroom. Caught by surprise Kenny, also known as the chief, threw his hands over his head and screamed.

"Tyson! Turn those off!"

"Sorry Chief." The lights were extinguished and the bespeckled teen turned once more to the screen as his indigo haired companion took a seat beside him on the bed. "What'cha watching?"

"Eh . . . " The Chief started the footage again once the individual image had been saved, and watched, with little interest, as the camera began following its new focus: a wildly red haired teenage girl. "Just some footage Max's mother sent me."

"So far it appears to be nothing more then a group of normal, albeit violent, teenage beybladers." His voice began to pick up speed. " But, if her suspicions are correct, these teenagers I'm watching could all be part of a destructive, underground, German Beyblading cult." Pausing, he chuckled nervously. "Or something like that."

"Um . . . wow Chief." Tyson readjusted himself to get a better look at the screen. "Why is she sending this stuff to you? Are they dangerous?"

"Possibly." He saved an image of the red head and closed the window. Adroitly, he added the picture to the dozens of others saved, and went to typing something too small for Tyson to read. "So far they don't seem to be very threatening . . . much less _dangerous_. Their battle strategies are unorganized if existent, their defense is sloppy and lacking, and their offense, being the strong point, can only be described as recklessly destructive."

He saved the typed page as the final slide for his demonstration. Pressing play, he put into motion several dozens of images and typed pages.

"But their attacks . . . " Across the screen flicked images of destruction. Fiery explosions, a small maelstrom of sand, acid rain, and finally . . . The chief paused the slide show, and slowed down the speed.

"In every battle, this girl has a different blade." Tyson watched as the attack ring alone exploded and showered metal blades down on the opponents bit beast and blade, trapping it in a corner, and ultimately throwing it off balance. A different beyblade this time under the girls command, exploded, showering the bowl with flames and metal shards belonging to both blades. Finally it reached the last segment, where the girl's blade, consumed from the bottom in flames, collided with the other blade from above and sent it crashing through the concrete. Both blades shattering on impact, and a full view of the girl appeared frozen on the screen.

"If this group is a cult, then they want themselves known." He minimized the slide show, and brought up another document. "They each have, what appears to be a self-appointed codename, easily found in any small town German newspaper or tabloid."

"Wow. There are a lot of 'Gods' here." Tyson muttered wide eyed as he quickly scanned the list.

"Yes, Gods and Goddesses of 'add some intimidating or violent noun here', Lords of pain, gore, blood, etc., girls named after precious gems or colors, numbers, and scattered between them you have your few super heros, dictators, behemoths, the list goes on as you see, but none of them actually give a real name." Dizzy pointed out as the Chief moved over to accommodate his restless friend.

"Yes, but each one of them knew the camera man was present, and were more then happy to give us their alias, all but one." He minimized the list, and returned to the frozen image. "This girl did not actual give us a name, nor did she even look at the camera."

"She's one of the most psychotic of them all."

"That's not nice, Dizzy." Kenny scolded, turning to Tyson, he missed Dizzy's digital equivalent to a snort. "She has never lost a battle, but it is not because she is good. She is far from it! Her defense is weak and she has no sense of strategy whatsoever"

"And you said I was mean." Ignoring the trapped bitbeast the chief continued.

"But, she always manages to sacrifice her blade at the last moment to secure a tie, either that, or she completely demolishes her opponent's blade."

"Okay . . . but Chief, how does this make her any more interesting then the others?"

"It doesn't. But Tyson, think of it this way." Pausing all programs, he turned to his friend. "In every shot, we see that her blade and her opponents have been completely obliterated, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then if the blade is completely destroyed, even the bit chip, how is it possible, that in every shot, with every different blade, that she manages to have a bitbeast?"

"She has a bitbeast!" Startled he watched Kenny nod.

"It is the only way to explain so much power generated within a beyblade, but no normal person can attract so many bitbeasts, it's simply impossibly. So, she either A. rigs her blade to make it _appear _that she has a bitbeast, or B. . . . "

"She steals them!" Kenny smiled.

"Exactly."

* * *

"_Not yet had Nessus finished crossing there..." _The low, growling voice, purred into the back of her mind, spilling from a crack she had no longer energy to mend. "_When we began to walk into a grim forest without a pathway anywhere." _

Her eyes, blind to the dancing growing flames around her, flickered open as she heard her name. And saw naught, but what the words wove before her.

"_Not bright green leaves, but foliage dark and dim, not sturdy branches, but each a twisted bought, not fruits, but poisoned thorns on every limb." _

They pricked her, she could feel it, and she coughed, for not a word would be freed by the heat and ash that locked her throat. Her hand lifted itself, and tossed clumsily back and forth through the air in order to clear it of the unseen flames and the prickling foliage.

"_This wood is the foul, nesting Harpies' home, who drove the Trojans from the Strophades with dreaded prediction of approaching doom."_

Her fingers flailed and caught the edge of a cloth she did not see, as creatures as fearsome as any descended unto her eyes.

"_With talons, broad wings, gross feathered paunches, these human-faced things sit uttering their lay of lamentation in the twisted tree."_

The cloth fell to the floor, and her eyes flicked open, truly this time, absorbing the bright white light that rained down from above, until it dimmed, and faded, and left her to realize only that she was not in heaven, nor in hell.

She was alone, in a cold, empty hospital room, with a strange beyblade glowing fiercely on her bedside table where her clothes had been only moments before.

* * *

"What if she's not the one stealing them thought?" Tyson inquired, watching the Chief as he unplugged his laptop and placed it carefully in his bag. 

"Well, if she's not stealing them, she has to be getting them from someone." He reasoned. "Taking into account the amount of difficulty finding a single bitbeast requires, it is safe to say that she must be pretty important to this organization, or else they wouldn't allow her to be so reckless."

"They may have found an easy way of finding them Chief." Tyson got off the bed and followed the Chief into the living room. "Or else they could be computer generated, you know, fakes."

"That's very unlikely." Chief opened the house door, and proceeded down the stairs to his parent's shop. "This group doesn't appear to have access to such advanced technology required to release or mass produce bitbeasts, or blades for that matter, so stealing is the only other way to explain her unending supply of both."

"Okay . . . well explain this to me." Tyson muttered as he grabbed Kenny by the shoulders. "If you find there is some great underground, German beyblading, mafia . . . sort of . . . cult thing . . . what do they expect you to do about it?"

"Nothing." Kenny said trying to push Tyson's hands off his shoulders. "Max's mother and Mr. Dickinson only want me to monitor the action of these bladers to make sure no one dangerous ends up controlling them, like Kai's grandfather for instance. With minds this susceptible to mass manipulation, these teens could be turned into a small army if the leaders will it, and obviously they have the resources as we've seen by this girl. Now, will you let go of me we have to meet the others at the airport."

"Oh . . . wait, if this is all in German . . . how can you understand it?" Tyson wondered, looking at the Chief suspiciously. The Chief only shrugged.

"I can't. Max's mother was kind enough to do a voice over for me until Dizzy's language program is fully functional." Tyson dropped his hands to his side and gave his friend a crooked grin.

"Finally, something you can't do."

"Of shut up Tyson." The Chief growled, waving goodbye, the two exited the store.

* * *

"_One month . . . three days . . . five hours . . . and twenty-six minutes ago."_ The blade hummed and purred. A sickeningly psychotic grin . . . it had spread like a scar across the boys face, one month . . . three days . . . five hours . . . and twenty-six minutes ago. The memory of his twisted face formed within her mind. 

One month, three days, five hours, and twenty-six minutes ago she had managed to incite an unforgivable amount of rage within the heart of a normal boy, a sane boy, a _random _boy.

Now, that amount of time later she lay on her back wrapped tightly in the hospital bed sheets. The nightmares had not left her yet. The air around her still smelt of sulfur, and the hair that grew at the base of her skull had failed to grow back around the scar tissue.

And on the table, the blade still glowed.

And she had new scars now.

* * *

"Hey Chief . . . " 

"What Tyson." The boy groaned in exasperation. "What do you want?"

"Eh . . . I was just wondering." He placed his hands behind his head. "What the girl's name was, the one who destroyed her own blades. Just so that, if I ever do meet her, I can knock some sense into her, right?"

He smiled a wide crooked smile, and scratched beneath his nose sheepishly.

"If you're the one knocking some sense into her, I'd rather let her destroy me." The Chief muttered. "Anyway, if you really must know, she's known as Kamikaze."

"Kamikaze?"

"Yeah, Kamikaze. Like a suicide flight."

* * *

Authors Note: this chapter was terrible, but I needed to introduce the plot somehow. It is because of the new plot that I am rewriting what I have already written for "So I'm a bit Insane." Yes, they will be crossed, so I have to finish both of them. 

If it seems confusing, it is either because of my style, or because nothing has been thoroughly explained as of yet. Everything will be cleared, give it time loves. If your have questions or suggestions, email me, flame me, IM me, don't be afraid to contact me. Constructive Criticism is encouraged, please?

Thank you, Libertykid, loveisagiftuseitwisely, krage, Seminai, and Eralda, I love and appreciate you all.

If this chapter was a disappointment, believe me, I know. It will get better, I swear!


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